One of Those Damned Days

I was trying to leave my neighbourhood this morning to run to town. Guess what? I drove over a damned big ass rock that managed to pierce a hole in my fuel tank. A friend of mine asked if I ran over kryptonite. I love that fact that she is geeky enough to ask me that. One of the few smiles today.

Since I have no money to fix it, I had to borrow from Dad. He's had a bad day at work so I didn't help at all. I waited in a bookstore that had wi-fi. All day, five hours! I'm pissed off, grumpy, urgy...

I want alcohol and sleeping pills. I don't want to think any more and I don't care how I achieve it. I want to self harm because I'm angry. Why the hell do these things keep happening to me?

Does it really matter?

I have no insurance and therefore cannot afford therapy. Of course once I do have private insurance, I also cannot afford therapy. Email to my therapist what I've found for health care and that its still not affordable and she replies, "Its a flawed system". No shit, Sherlock. Of course she isn't on the receiving end of the shit storm! She has health care, and the money to afford whatever the hell she needs. At $170 a session before insurance and "sliding scale" no wonder. Of course whatever she doesn't get directly in cash that day, the insurance reimburses to the point that she only has her office open to the psychos like me for three days in the work week.

I shouldn't be angry with Dr B, its not her fault. She's trying to help in her own way. She is a prisoner to the system just as much as I am. She can only do so much whilst my hands are tied completely.

I'm angry, pissed off, fucking furious and there is not a bloody thing I can do about any of it. Sure, I can injure, like I did last night. Doesn't help, none of it helps. I could change my injury spot again, new pain... No, doesn't help forever. Numb in the skin and pain in the brain. What a way to go. I close my eyes to try and calm myself, to not see that my life is nothing but a waste most of the time. My parents are disappointed in me because I can't move out and leave them alone. I have few friends and none of which I would ever tell my darkest secret. I have virtually no support.

I. Am. Alone.

I feel it every day I breathe, every night I try to dream. Part of me is so close to saying "fuck it" and giving up. But what of the other part? Too subbourne to die, to give in, to leave. I'm screaming in my head, I'm begging to be heard, but on one seems to hear me. Maybe I'm not loud enough, maybe none of them care, maybe maybe maybe... Does any of it really matter? Do I?

Screwed Up Little Brain

I have a job that is going well. I don't hate my manager, I have great hours that allow me to have a regular schedule for both sleeping and eating. I can read on my down time (there's a lot of that), I can write, play a game... whatever. There is actual income again!

My sleep is regular and there haven't been as many nightmares. There are fewer "forced days". Yet, why do I still want to cut? Nothing is pissing me off, nothing seems to be out of sorts, with the rather noticeable exception of my mother, but there's no getting rid of that. Why do I feel the need to hurt myself when things are going well, or relatively well?

Feeling like I'm broken, damaged, useless.